


Wolf At The Door

by mycrofts-brokenheart (thisisourscience)



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Forced Feminization, Genderplay, Humiliation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisourscience/pseuds/mycrofts-brokenheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in an alternative universe where Silva somehow manages to survive,and capture a very unwilling James. Silva proceeds to dress him up like a little girl and have his way with him. </p><p>tldr: I'm a horrible summary writer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolf At The Door

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a lovely little piece of art by blinkingkills on Tumblr!  
> The idea was a joint effort of a bunch of us on the 00Silva skype chat December of 2012. It's also my first time writing smut so I'd appreciate feedback etc. :)

When James Bond wakes up the first thing he notices is the ache in his head. He’s in a room, how big he doesn’t know, but the floors are concrete. Perhaps an underground cell he muses? From the numbness in his shoulders and ankles he gathers that he’s been bound rather expertly, from the lack of give in the restraints when he tugs. He’s been completely immobilized, tied up like a hog. It could be any number of organizations or individuals who have done this. It’s a byproduct of being a 00 agent for MI6. The ball gag in his mouth does nothing to narrow it down either. Of all the people to get captured by it had to be a kinky one. A feeling of amusement settles over him despite his situation. 

Last he remembers was the mission and Q telling him to get out the building before black swallowed his vision. He quiets his mind and settles down for what could possibly be a long wait. He is given no reprieve as footsteps echo down a hall before the damp room is is flooded with blinding white light, his retinas aching at the sudden influx. 

Foot steps sound behind him as his captor comes into view. Bond can’t help it, his blue eyes widening at the sight before him. The man standing before him should be dead, merely a ghost among many. Yet still, defying all odds, clad once more in a ridiculously flamboyant designer suit is Raoul Silva. 

“Did you really think I was dead, darling? Tsk tsk, you made Daddy very mad, stabbing him like that.” James feels a rush of confusion. What could he possibly want from me, he got what he wanted. M is dead. 

“Let’s see how detailed your training was. Tell me, Mister Bond,” Silva purrs, “what exactly does protocol say for this?” as he crouches and gestures to Bonds bound form upon the ground. James snarls against the gag, hands fighting against his restraints. 

James feels the slow drag of something soft against his skin as he moves and hisses, his arms twinging uncomfortably in protest behind his back. 

Silva beams his pearlescent teeth catching the light not unlike a shark. “Do you like it my dear? Something I picked up during my hnn...time in Asia. It’s called shibari. It’s a form of Japanese bondage.” 

His arms are tied behind his back, rope trailing from his biceps down to his wrists where another thicker, more intricately tied rope joins to the lattice of rope binding his thighs and ankles together. The overall affect of the binding is his face pressed onto the cold ground, ass raised in the air like a common whore. He tells himself he’s been in worse situations, a bit of kinkiness on the part of his captor shouldn’t be enough to scare him. Still the look on Silva’s face is too satisfied, and he knows his humiliation won’t end here.

*

Silva stands and walks to a corner of the cell. A large object stands covered and Silva pulls off the cloth covering it to reveal a large mirror. He returns to where Bond lays on the floor and pillows the mans head in his lap, as he turns towards the gleaming piece of glass. His hands are warm as he strokes Bonds hair. "I think the silver suits you nicely no?" Silva, he couldn’t have--why- Bond’s eyes widen as he realizes what his captor has done. In the harsh artificial light of the cell he can finally understand why Silva looks so satisfied. 

The sight that greets him in the mirror is enough to make him pause. The face that stares back at him is undeniably male despite Silva’s obvious attempts at feminizing him. His stubble has been freshly shaved, skin smooth under the foundation meticulously applied. His lips are swollen and painted a deep red around the gag; his glacial blue eyes are dusted with a pale silver and rimmed in kohl. Still his jaw remains square and masculine, his hair too short to further the illusion. Gone is his Tom Ford suit, and in it’s place is what can only be described as a girl's dress. The dress is a pure white, no doubt meant to mock his less than virginal reputation in the bedroom. The sleeves constrict his arms, not meant for his large biceps. His shoulders are too broad, the fabric of the white sun dress stretched tight across them; the fabric at the front puckers clearly meant for someone with breasts instead of his leaner flat chest. The dress is overlaid with white lace and stops well above his knees due to his height. Bond shifts uncomfortably at the image, and the unmistakeable feel of silk against his skin startles him. 

Before he can mull over this discovery Silva has propped him up on his knees and teeth nip sharply at his neck forcing him to bare his neck to his captor’s mouth. He gasps behind the gag as Silva’s lips trail wet heat across his neck. Heat begins to pool low in his belly at the ministrations. His neck had always been sensitive, and slowly his body begins to respond in earnest to the pleasure.

The sight of his cock growing hard under the lacey child’s dress is enough to make his stomach churn menacingly. It’s obscene he thinks. Silva just coos as his fingers ghost along the lace outlined length, his face split in a cruel facsimile of a smile. He feels a rush of self-loathing as he grows impossibly hard beneath Silva’s touches. Warm hands brush his thighs as Silva slips the lacey dress up his hip to reveal frilled pink silk knickers. The pink undergarment contrasts starkly against his tan skin smooth skin. Too smooth, James realizes. The thought of Silva shaving his legs whilst he was unconscious is too intimate to consider. Silva maneuvers his bound form onto his hands and knees; the hard concrete scraping his exposed skin. His cheek presses into the ground as Silva bares his silk clad ass to the air. 

“That’s a good girl darling” Silva licks a broad stripe up his exposed thigh before biting down hard enough to break skin. He can't help but wince slightly. Silva’s eyes gleam bright in the artificial light and James wonders if he’s imagining the trace of affection in them. “Daddy’s brought you a little present,” Silva says voice mocking. He’s holding something plastic and blue in his hands. He frowns as he says the next bit, “Though I’m not sure you deserve a new toy, look at you already getting hard from a few kisses like a little slut” Bond shivers at the epithet, and closes his eyes--whether from pleasure or self-loathing he isn’t sure. A sharp slap to his ass forces his eyes open. “Tsk tsk such a naughty girl you are, didn’t you hear me? You don’t get to zone out on me Mi Querido. Don’t you like the present, I made it especially for you.”

Bond resolutely does not flinch at the sight of the vibrator in Silva’s hands. His mind is racing. What is the protocol for this? No one, not Q with his bloody genius level intellect, or M, even with all her years of experience could have briefed him for this. It should have been a routine mission in Algeria taking out some arm dealers, nothing special. 

He fails to stifle his moan as Silva presses his palm against his length. Silva continues his slow tease, hiking the fabric of the dress up his back as he caresses James. His hands find their way to his nipples where they sharply tug. “You’ve been so bad lately darling, what should I do?” The calloused fingers stroke their way down his back before reaching underneath to squeeze the base of his weeping cock. His fingers slip into his pocket before pulling out a length of black ribbon. The ribbon feels cool against his cock as Silva ties it into a bow. “I can’t have you coming too soon now can I” he grins. 

*

He hears Silva spit into his palm and suddenly the fingers are pulling the panties aside as they plunge into his unprepared hole. The sudden intrusion hurt, his body trying to clamp down on the foreign invader. The saliva does little to slick his passage, but under Silva’s coaxing touch he feels himself begin to relax. Silva brushes something inside him that has him wantonly impaling himself back onto the other mans fingers. He finds himself not minding too much anymore—finds the burn and the tight stretch and the ache deep inside of him almost good. It shoots through him, dark and heady straight to his toes. The head of his cock leaking a steady stream of precome now that stains the front of the dress. 

The silence is broken by a breathy sigh from his captor as he says, “ I wonder if you can come from this alone. Could you? On my fingers”, he wonders aloud casually as if discussing the weather. Another sigh and a pat against his thigh before, “We will have to try that another time unfortunately, I’ve been dying to use this toy on you” Silva removes his probing fingers and Bond hears the sound of a cap opening and something being slicked up before the feeling of the blunt, plastic head of the toy against his hole has him stilling in apprehension. The blue plastic toy slides in easily due to Silva’s surprisingly careful preparation. Silva watches his hole clench around the toy appraisingly before speaking, “Lovely just lovely, it matches your eyes you know hm? That was partly the reason I chose it. Do you want to know what it does? He dangles a remote in front of Bond’s eyes, well within reach had he not been restrained. “The ones in the stores were so boring, so I made my own” Silva seems to be murmuring more to himself as he says, “just turn this dial here and--” James jolts at the slowly building vibration in his ass, humiliation washing over him anew in waves. 

He’s impossibly hard, blood rushing red hot in his veins. Just as he thinks he can’t feel any worse he feels the abrupt but not unwelcome sensation of cool air against his fevered cheeks. 

Hands reach behind his head and the sudden removal of the gag has wanton moans spilling out of his mouth in a sudden rush. Every shift of his hips has the vibrator moving inside him, and it feels so bloody good he thinks. “I want to hear you beg ” Silva says before wrenching his body up by the hair and licking into his mouth. There’s nothing gentle about the way Silva kisses, it’s all teeth and tongue, like the man really does want to devour him. Silva bites his lip hard enough to draw blood as his fingers claw into the sensitive skin of his neck and James keens as the metallic taste of his own blood assaults him. After what seems like an hour but in reality is most likely minutes, he thinks dazedly to himself, Silva pulls back, leaning back onto his heels as James gasps for air. Fingers stroke his lips smearing the lipstick further. 

Those blue contact covered eyes are raking hungrily over his form as he says, “I wish you could see how debauched you look James, your lips swollen and bruised. Eyes glazed. You look absolutely fuckable” James can only squirm in response to the words, as the steadily increasing hum of the vibrator steals any witty response he might have come up with. He hates how he must look. His captor’s remains fully dressed, sleek clothes and all. If not for the tenting of his trousers and subtle rasp to his voice no one would even guess Raoul Silva was aroused. 

*

Bond still has no idea what the point of this little game is beyond humiliating him. He didn’t kill M, he may have led to her untimely demise, but it wasn’t him who shot her. Unable to wait any longer he voices his question to his captor. “What do you want from me?”, he whispers, voice rough as he chokes down a moan. Silva merely stares at him. His eyes are like two soulless pits, mercurial in their intensity as they consider him. They say eyes are the window to the soul, but there is nothing inside Silva, only James’ reflected image stares back at him. 

 

Finally he begins to speak--slowly at first but picking up speed as his eyes take on a manic gleam. “I only want to play a game dearheart.” “ I want to tear you apart and put you back together again, painstakingly piece by piece.” “ I want you to feel even a fraction of what I’ve felt. “

 

“I want to kill you; watch the life drain out of those blue eyes of yours.” Silva traces his fingers down his chest as he murmurs, “I want to slit you open right down the middle, reach inside and see what makes you so special. Hold your still beating heart warm in my hands, crush your heart like she crushed mine and see why mummy chose you over me. I can’t help but wonder, underneath all that careful training who you really are? I want to burn you until you’re nothing but ashes in my hands, and then devour them, so that I’ll have you inside me, the last two rats forever joined even in death. More than though that I want you mine.” Silva says mine in a primal sort of way, as if James is something that can be owned, and worst of all James believes him. James believes every word that passes through Raoul Silva’s lips, he’s seen what the man can do, and knows that Silva will make him plead for his own death. Lost in his reverie he forgets to pay attention to the dangerous man before him, and is rewarded for his transgression with a series of sharp slaps to his ass as Silva chides him, “Tsk, naughty girl, not paying attention when Daddy tells you to do something!” “And, for that, you don’t get to come until I do” 

Silva pushes him roughly onto his side. The fall causes the vibrator to jolt against his prostate and for a moment he sees stars, back arching nimbly off the ground. He lays there for what seems like eternity, mewling and pushing back onto the vibrator. It’s too much and not enough at the same time and he loathes it. Cool hands push the dress up to bunch around his chest. His cock juts upward out of the panties, the silky bow only adding to the sense of wrongness of the situation. Silva finally wraps his hand firmly around his shaft, pumping him quickly. The man’s eyes never leave his face. It’s unnerving. 

Calloused hands spread his thighs, and he almost screams as the vibrations in his ass become faster, Silva’s hand toying with the dial. He’s panting and bucking his hips upwards. He can feel the ribbon--teasing, silky, smooth- against the sensitive skin at the base of his cock and he needs to come so badly. His cock head is an angry red, the precome dribbling out in a near constant stream. He’s too hot, sweat soaking through the fabric of the dress, which feels even more constricting. He’s melting he thinks feverishly. Without realizing he chants muffled pleas into the concrete. “God” he says, I nee-ed, need to...” The hand stops and this time he really does scream. 

Silva is speaking to him seemingly composed, “You need to be more specific dear, and a please wouldn’t hurt either”. James is wrecked, beyond caring, he’s so close, just a little more he thinks. Cool hands grasp his chin, tilting his head up until he meets Silva gleaming eyes. Fingers press against the hollow of his throat and stay there.“Let try this again darling, what do you want?” James swallows thickly, before, “Please, please let me suck your cock...Daddy. “ And he shudders and tries to yank his head downwards, tears beginning to gather in the corner of his eyes, but Silva’s hand is like steel. The resulting smile Silva gives him at his use of the epithet makes him nauseous. He feels the first tear fall, salt water trailing down his heated face. He can feel it, shame, hot as it crawls down his spine, before settling like wildfire between his thighs. The thought of sucking another man off shouldn’t make him feel this way. 

Bond lets go. Silva maneuvers his body into an upright position before unzipping his pants. The other mans cock is straining against his briefs, the head creating a wet spot against the fabric. Hands pull down the briefs before pressing his face against the large member, the action speaking to an unspoken command. 

 

He takes the blonde man as deep as he can, gagging all the while. Silva’s length is heavy on his tongue, salty and bitter. Fingers dig into his scalp and he winces as he is forced down again and again onto his captors length. His lips ache from trying to accommodate the other’s girth and saliva drips from the corners of his mouth where he can’t quite manage to swallow completely.

“That’s it darling, be a good little girl and make Daddy come now, Silva says, his voice a slippery promise in his ear. A promise of what he’s not really sure, the voice crawls through veins like a mass of writhing insects. 

Silva pulls out and comes with a shudder and a low growl, his seed spilling across James’ face. The blonde agent’s cock twitches still hard against his stomach, and for a moment the cell is blessedly silent aside from the quiet huff of Silva’s breathe against his face, and the slow steady hum of the vibrator. Hands cradle his face-deceptively gentle in their embrace before they smear the cooling seed come across his face. “You look so pretty like this, on your knees for me.” “I think you deserve a little reward don’t you hm?” 

Pressure against his lips has him trying to squirm away and he tries to stop--he really does, but the fingers are insistent. “Suck” comes the command, and he complies, tongue wrapping around the two digits, sloppily coating them in saliva. Silva’s other hand rubs circles gently along his back, working the vibrator out, ridged plastic jolting along his insides causing shivers to run down his spine, and his eyes to roll back into his head as a long moan leaves his mouth. With a final pull the vibrator exits with a lewd noise. He clenches from habit, displeased with the sudden emptiness, and he groans remembering the silk on his cock. Before he can reprimand himself for the thought he finds his mouth empty, hastily coated fingers circle his hole before plunging in. Not enough he thinks as the fingers slide deeper and deeper before crooking and rubbing against something that has him whimpering. Above him Silva chuckles, “found it.”

He pants, harsh sobs escaping his mouth and he can’t stop. He tries to muffle his pleas against Silva’s shoulder, but any attempts to hide only have Silva halting his ministrations entirely. 

“Close, James?” 

“So close, close..dont--uhn”

“Remember what I said dearheart, that I was going to take you apart?” Silva voices before latching onto James’ throat, teeth biting into soft flesh as he sucks dark bruises onto the tanned neck. One hand holds James’ hips down as fingers brutally fuck in and out of the 00 agent just so.  
A strangled scream twists its way out of his throat, back arching against the older man’s chest as he tries to fuck himself onto the other man’s fingers.

“Uhn, plea-se!” James croaks long past any coherent thought, the delicate silk ribbon soaked in pre-come feels like a iron band against his purpling cock.

“How pretty, James,” Silva teases him, his voice thick with lust. “Keep making those pretty little noises for Daddy.”

Every nerve feels like it’s on fire, the overstimulation has him crying in earnest now. He opens his eyes staring through salt encrusted eyelashes to peer searchingly into his captors face. Something in his eyes must alert his captor to his sincerity. Long fingers trail down his chest before settling on twitching hips. Smug artificial blue eyes meet his as those fingers teasingly take hold of the tail of the ribbon before undoing the knot in one fluid motion.

The effect is almost instant. The intensity of his orgasm nearly makes him black out, an obscenely long moan spilling from him against his will. Streaks of come paint the dainty lace dress as he sits chest heaving, black spots dancing before his vision. Silva pulls him into his lap fingering the ruined dress cradling the spy as he licks Bond’s release from his hand. “Such a bad little girl, ruining your dress like that, after Daddy took such care to make you look so nice” James continues to cry silently thighs shaking from the force of his orgasm barely hearing the chastisement. He shifts and winces slightly, before stilling completely at the feeling of Silva hard beneath him. 

Silva’s arousal is pressing against his abused backside, the man isn’t exactly what James would call small. The thought of having Silva’s cock inside him makes him wince, asshole throbbing in protest. “You’re surprisingly silent, Mi Querido and after all that begging too. You were such a good little slut for Daddy. So vocal it was lovely.” Followed up with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his captor’s deadened eyes. Again with that name...James thinks. It’s sickening, indicative of a level of depravity even he doesn’t want to consider.

The thought of being stuck in this cell indefinitely hadn’t occurred to him before now. His radio...his only chance of being rescued was taken from him when Silva--prepared him. A sob wrenches its way free from the confines of his throat, it was only supposed to be a routine mission, and no one is going to suspect a supposed dead man. 

He realizes Silva is doing something, and manages to catch the tail end of his sentence-- “Daddy’s going to make it up to you yes?” At the words something breaks inside him like a damn and he struggles with renewed vigor, trying to bash his head against Silva’s to disable him--something-anything-he just needs time. Silva must have anticipated it, he deftly restrains James’ flailing arms, and James keens desperately at his failure.  
James bites his lip, tears streaming down his face. Gathering resolve, before he whispers, “please,” eyes glittering with tears of shame. “Please I’m embarrassed, no more please!”, he chokes out.

Silva sighs as if the confession disappoints him, “I thought you were going to be a good girl for Daddy, there’s no need to be embarrassed dearheart. You’re a very pretty little girl. Now then, let Daddy see your wet little cunt. Daddy just wants to make you feel good, you’re practically dripping James. The words have taken on a gravely quality, and he can’t help it, he feels his body responding to the lascivious suggestions against his will.

Warm hands pat his head gently, brushing hair behind his ears almost absentmindedly as Silva seems to decide on a course of action. James is abruptly turned around, hands latching onto his ribcage before the bleached blonde head dips down to suck violently on a nipple, teeth catching and nails scratching down his sides deep enough to draw blood. Silva’s tongue traces patterns around the hardened pink nub, alternating between that and sucking scarlet splotches onto the tender flesh of his chest. He clenches his eyes shut, his nerve endings are on fire. The stimulation causes his traitorous cock to harden even further, precome gathering at the tip. The other man groans, breathing faster, hands sliding down further to cup his ass before wrenching the scrap of frilled pink silk down his thighs as best he can. 

“You’re so perfect like this James, I knew I wanted to do this when I first saw you in Mi6’s database”, his sentence punctuated with the sound of a zipper undoing. 

Two fingers push their way into his already slick hole, crooking before coming out drenched in Silva’s come. James is silent and tense, pointedly looking over the man’s shoulder as he slicks his cock before grabbing it and guiding it in to his still puffy hole. James’ body, welcomes Silva home like a long lost lover, all warm, wet heat as the other man sheaths himself to the hilt. Silva’s eyes are closed in concentration, brow furrowed slightly before they open and fix themselves on James’ watery blue eyes. Without preamble he grabs James’ hips in a vice like grip, withdrawing before fucking into him in one smooth motion, an action that has the 00 agent seeing spots. Silva sets up a violent pace, not seemingly content with the teasing he had done earlier. Despite his remarks, he seems completely unconcerned with James’ pleasure, instead his eyes are screwed shut in concentration, beads of sweat gathered at his forehead, as bits of Spanish escape his lips. James’ feels his orgasm overtake him in a crescendoing wave, body shuddering and spasming around his captor’s cock, as Silva merely swears and continues to drive into his aching body. He slumps against Silva, head resting on the man’s shoulder, exhaustion lurking behind his every blink. I can’t, he thinks. 

Fingers dig into his neck, pulling him away from his resting place. Glazed blue eyes lock onto his and lips are suddenly on his. Silva licks his way into James’ mouth, tracing slow patterns with his tongue, and Bond defiantly bites down hard on the slippery appendage, the sweet copper taste of blood filling his mouth as Silva growls his displeasure before wrenching his mouth away. Blood trickles over his lip and down the curve of his throat settling in the hollow of his neck. 

For his efforts he is pushed off Silva’s lap, face down on the ground, cheek scrapping against the concrete as Silva’s thrusts become more frantic. A calloused hand snakes around to grab his soft length, pumping in time with thrusts. Silva changes his angle, and he can feel his prostate being hit with every inhalation, sending tiny sparks of pleasure down his nerves, that have him clenching his toes sudden and fierce. 

“No, I-I can’t”, he demands, voice breathless. Silva leans over him, voice full of mirth-desire-triumph in his ear, “You don’t think I don’t know what you do with that little Quartermaster of yours or the new M hm?” “Such a little slut, sucking cock and bending over wherever you go. You can’t help it though can you? Just look at the way your pussy is sucking me in hole stretched so nice and tight around me.” 

Shame courses through him at the words, and he knows he’s going to come again, cock slow to respond after two orgasms but standing almost proudly against his stomach due to Silva’s ministrations. He can feel it building, slowly then all at once. Silva ruts into him mindlessly, fucks him through his orgasm, before stilling with a groan and spilling inside him. He feels sloppy, used, as the man pulls out, and turns over on his side trying to catch his breath, the cool concrete soothing his sweaty skin somewhat. James is covered in dried and fresh come, a metaphorical scarlet letter emblazoned across his form. 

*

Once, years ago James Bond had decided he had been through almost every type of torture imaginable, that nothing could faze him. He knows better now; nothing can surpass the humiliation he has experienced in this cell. 

He begins to cry again, or maybe he never stopped entirely. His lunges ache as he fights to get in enough air, he feels like he’s drowning. The tears have made his vision murky, almost like being underwater. He lies on the floor where Silva left him legs still trembling with the aftershocks of his last orgasm. He hears the rustling of fabric as Silva straightens his clothing before standing up. Silva’s footsteps echo in the silence as the overhead light finally shuts off. He hears the man turn at the entrance to his prison, the clack of the expensive soles breaking the silence. 

“Ohh and before I forget! I hope you don’t mind darling, but I took the liberty of recording our little session here. I’m sure your little Quartermaster and M will be absolutely delighted to receive this footage.” Bond doesn’t need to see Silva’s face to know the other man is smiling like a shark. The last thing he hears before darkness overtakes him--finally- is Silva singing mockingly:

Duérmete niño

Duérmete ya

Que viene el coco

Y te comerá. 

 

*

He thinks it’s morning when Silva returns. Without a window his perception of time had become skewed. James imagines what he must look like now unable to see the mirror in the darkened room. Makeup mucked up, come still streaked across his face , partially washed off from where it mixed with the salt water, running down his cheeks in rivulets. The once pure white dress crusted with his own come, hiked up to his chest. He probably looks how he feels, absolutely wrecked. His eyes are beginning to look bruised around the edges, rimmed red from lack of sleep. 

How could he have slept--not with the constant ache inside his ass--pain-pleasure-hatred, he hates himself for having wanted it. For clenching down around the vibrator just to feel more. For having rutted against Silva’s leg, just to feel some kind of friction against his aching length. He chokes back as sob and it’s all he can do to clench his eyes tightly against the onslaught of tears threatening to fall again. His body is screaming for sleep and the damp coldness of the cell makes him far too aware of the warmth of Silva’s covered chest against his back as he fights not to lean into the other man. Silva runs his fingers through his matted hair before pulling his bound form against him in a twisted semblance of a hug as he softly murmurs, “It’s ok Mi Querido Daddy’s got you.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I am totally going to hell, at least it’ll be warm.


End file.
